


The Mirrorverse Doppelganger Visitation

by KiaraSayre



Category: The Middleman (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Mirror!Middleverse, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:37:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What a crazy, random happenstance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirrorverse Doppelganger Visitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edna_blackadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/gifts).



> Ten million thanks to Ari for being my beta, and for understanding what I meant when I said I wanted this fic to read like being punched in the face by the show.
> 
>  **Contains spoilers for the Doomsday Armageddon Apocalypse.** For Edna Blackadder, who said:
> 
> "I would adore anything in keeping with the tone of the show. Any kind of wacky casefic would be great. As pairings go, I ship Wendy/Tyler and Middleman/Lacey (and re: the latter, if you want to find a way around "The Doomsday Armageddon Apocalypse," that would be most welcome), but they're not a requirement. Gen fic is just fine. Please don't pair up the Middleman and Wendy, though -- I love them, and I love them together, but not as a couple. I would be intrigued by any story involving the Mirror Universe, but seriously, go wild."
> 
> I hope this feeds the greed!

**The illegal sublet Wendy shares with another young, photogenic artist.**  
 **3:22 PM**  
   
"Wait, is this your toothpaste or mine?"  
   
Wendy cranes her head forward to see the tube of toothpaste that Lacey holds up across the room.  
   
"Well," says Wendy, "it says 'vegan and cruelty-free' on it in big, huge letters, so..."  
   
"So mine, then?" Lacey throws it on top of her suitcase.  
   
"Don't you usually use it?"  
   
"Yeah, but after four years of art school and another year and a half of quote-unquote real life, I just assume that half the stuff I use is yours and I just don't realize it."  
   
Wendy turns back to the thawing steaks on the counter. "Didn't you notice when you, you know, _bought_ it?"  
   
"I thought I might be replacing it for you," says Lacey.  
   
"And I repeat, it says 'vegan and cruelty-free' on it in big, huge letters."  
   
"Wendy Watson," says Lacey, and Wendy, appropriately summoned by the use of her full name, turns around like the dutiful roommate that she is. "It's _toothpaste_. Why aren't you more disturbed that yours apparently _doesn't_ say 'vegan and cruelty-free' on it?"  
   
"You know the reason they put it on there is so that they can charge another dollar for it at the Whole Nutrition Trader."  
   
Lacey gives Wendy an exaggerated look of offense. "Did you really just insult the Whole Nutrition Trader? Because I am perfectly willing to have a throwdown if that's what it takes to get you to take it back."  
   
Wendy holds up her hands in a peace offering. "I take it back, no throwdown needed."  
   
"Good," says Lacey, zipping up her bag. "Otherwise it was going to be a torganicnado."  
   
Wendy frowns. "A tornado made of organic foods?"  
   
"You know it." Lacey pulls the strap of her bag over her shoulder, and the look she gives Wendy this time is considerably softer.  "You know I'm gonna miss you, right?"  
   
"We can handle a week without each other," says Wendy.  "At least, I think so."  
   
"This is the longest time we're going to have gone without seeing each other since, what, senior year of art school?"  
   
Wendy thinks about it for a second, and then says, "Senior year was when you came to visit for winter break, so I think actually junior year."  
   
"See?" says Lacey, and her expression edges towards being a pout.  "What am I going to do without my Dub-Dub?"  
   
Wendy walks over to her and puts her hands on her shoulders.  "You," she says, "are going to enjoy getting to spend time with Dr. Barbara Thornfield, MD, PhD, for once.  And you're going to enjoy a week learning about Galapagos biodiversity on that cruise, and you're going to eat lots of quinoa and tempeh and you're going to have a great time while I take advantage of your absence to fulfill my constant steak craving for at least the next year."  
   
Lacey wrinkles her nose.  "You don't have to tell me about the steak part."  
   
"See?  You're already glad you're going!"  
   
Lacey smiles, and pulls Wendy into a one-armed hug.  "You sure you're going to be okay?"  
   
"I'll be fine," says Wendy.  "Besides, I still have to go to work, and Tyler's around, and Noser and Joe 90 and everyone."  
   
"It's the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve," says Lacey, giving Wendy one last squeeze before pulling back.  "How much temp work will you really have to do?"  
   
"Uhhh, none, probably," says Wendy.  "I mean, I'm sure it's going to be really quiet around here.  Business as usual."  
   
 **An abandoned warehouse next to an industrial physics lab.**  
 **3:53 PM**  
   
"I got 'im, Boss!"  Wendy continues her pursuit of the black-hoodied suspect, her feet quite literally pounding the pavement.  She hadn't given much thought to how uncomfortable abandoned warehouse floors were before, but this particular experience is making her reconsider her decision to have heels in her Middleuniform.  Maybe what she needs is a pair of sneakers, or better yet, Crocs.  Are there Middle-rocket-powered-roller-blades?  Those are what she _really_ needs.  
   
"Dubbie!" the Middleman reports through the Middlewatch.  "I've located the control room – I think I can shut the experiment down, but you need to catch him!  It looks like he's opening up a quantum singularity!"  
   
"Oh," huffs Wendy, "like the one the Palindrome opened?"  
   
"No, nothing like that," says the Middleman.  "That singularity lead to a fairly predictable, albeit evil, version of our universe.  Who knows what kind of universe the Jumper's singularity could lead to?  It might be one with a toxic atmosphere, or one where a rogue time-traveler stepped on a butterfly and changed the etymology of the entire English language, or one filled entirely with shrimp."  
   
"Shrimp?"  
   
"I've seen it before, Dubbie," says the Middleman grimly.  "We need to catch that portal-punching whackjob before he unleashes some kind of unspeakable evil into our universe."  
   
"Unspeakable evil," says Wendy, "or shrimp."  
   
"Just catch him.  Middleman out."  
   
"If it's Cthulhu, I'm handing in my resignation," Wendy mutters to herself, picking up the pace.  
   
The Jumper takes a sharp turn around a stack of empty boxes, and Wendy follows, nearly turning an ankle – when she looks up, she sees the Jumper making a beeline towards the singularity, a straight shot down from him.  No matter what the Middleman said, it looks damn familiar, with a bluish, circular warping of spacetime marking the edges of the singularity.  
   
"Oh no you _don't_ ," mutters Wendy, full-on sprinting, but just as the Jumper is about to hit the singularity –  
   
The familiar sound of a Middleblaster echoes through the warehouse, and the Jumper gives a high-pitched and strangely familiar scream before crumpling to the ground.  
   
Wendy takes a few steps to stop, and looks down at her own Middleblaster, still strapped to her hip.   
   
Then she draws it and looks up, brandishing her weapon.  
   
"Whoever you are, come out with your hands up," she calls, as if that ever works.  She adds, "I'm armed!  And you…obviously are too."  
   
A Middleblaster identical to her own comes skittering across the floor from behind a stack of empty boxes.  
   
"Don't shoot," says another familiar voice, "and I really hope you're the Dub-Dub that I think you are."  
   
Wendy watches with astonishment as Lacey – or more accurately, the long-, dark-, and straight-haired Lacey from an evil alternate universe – steps out from behind the stack of boxes.  
   
Wearing what appears to be a much skimpier version of Wendy's own Middleuniform.  
   
"Lacey?" says Wendy, her surprise evident in her voice.  
   
"I don't suppose you're the same Wendy Watson that once visited a universe where Fatboy Industries keeps an iron grip on the populace, stormtroopers guard the aerosolized soup lines, and Manservant Neville is a cryogenically frozen puppet to the real mastermind behind Fatboy," says Lacey, her arms raised.  
   
Wendy flicks the safety for her Middleblaster and holsters it.  "Only if said mastermind is an evil version of myself who had a moral crisis in our freshman year of art school and sent you to the Fatboy darning camps, only for you to come to my rescue anyway years later when I was trapped there."  
   
A genuine smile blooms across Lacey's face.  "You _are_ the Dub-Dub I thought you were."  
   
"Honestly, with your universe being what it is, I'm just really happy that you're alive," says Wendy.  "I mean, surprised – on _so_ many levels – " and here she glances down at Lacey's uniform – "but mostly happy.  What are you doing here?"  
   
"It's a long story," says Lacey, leaning down to pick up her own Middleblaster – and wow, her outfit is definitely a skimpier version of Wendy's, emphasis on _skimpier_ \- and holstering it.  "First we just have to make sure that your version of our boss doesn't shut down the – "  
   
The singularity winks out of existence with a noise that, under the circumstances, sounds mostly vindictive.   
   
"…singularity," says Lacey, putting her hands on her hips.  "Well, I guess I'm staying for dinner, huh?"  
   
"Dubbie!" says the Middleman from the Middlewatch, his voice full of pride.  "I figured out how to shut down the singularity!"  
   
Wendy holds her own Middlewatch up to her face, and says, "Ya think?  You'd better get down here, Boss – we've got a visitor."  
   
She shuts the Middlewatch off, and Lacey tilts her head curiously.  
   
"Why didn't you tell him who I am?"  
   
"I probably should," admits Wendy, "but mostly I want to see the look on his face when he sees you in that outfit."  
   
Lacey looks down at her uniform, then at Wendy's.  "What?  Do you know how hard it is to find enough material to actually make pants in my universe?"  
   
"Dubbie, get down!"  The Middleman comes bursting around the corner, Middleblaster drawn and ready, only to utterly freeze when he sees Lacey.  
   
"Boss," says Wendy, holding out a hand towards Lacey as if serving her on a platter, "I'd like to introduce you to my roommate from an evil alternate mirrorverse.  Lacey, this is this universe's version of our boss."   
   
The Middleman is, for once, rendered speechless.  Wendy fixes the image as well as she can in her mind – there is definitely a portrait in his expression. Maybe a whole series.   
   
Then she plays back the last thing she said, and then the entire conversation.  "Wait," says Wendy, turning to Lacey.  " _Our_ boss?"  Then the equation of _our + Middleuniform = ?_ solves itself, and Wendy says, "You're me!"  
   
"Uh, no, you're you," says Lacey.  "Or the evil head of Fatboy in my universe is you.  Either way, I'm not you."  She goes back to looking at the Middleman, with a grin that Wendy remembers well from art school – delight, smugness, and just a pinch of filthiness around the edges.  She walks closer to the Middleman, circling him like a lioness circling her prey.  "Your hair's so _short_ ," she says, and reaches out to stroke it.  The Middleman shies away from her hand, and gives Wendy a beseeching look.  
   
"Dubbie?  Do you perhaps – "  He trips over himself in a stilted effort to get away from Lacey.  " – do you have an explanation for what's going on?"  
   
"Yeah, Boss," says Wendy.  "Remember when you said that there was no way that the quantum singularity would lead to the mirror universe where I got trapped for a day a while back?  Well, surprise, it did.  And this is that universe's Lacey, who is apparently the other Middleman's recruit."  
   
Lacey grins again.  "Pretty cool, huh?"  
   
"I thought he was gonna leave town," says Wendy.   
   
Lacey snorts.  "So did he, for a while.  First he said he was just in it to get his Middlehog back, and then it was to give Fatboy a finger in the eye, and then finally he just started being the Middleman again."  She leans forward and says, conspiratorially, "I think he really just wanted Ida to stop insulting him."  
   
"Did it work?" says the Middleman hopefully.  
   
"No," says Lacey.  "But he's having a hell of a lot more fun sticking it to Fatboy than he would've had anywhere else, I can tell you that much."  
   
"And he hired you?" says Wendy.  
   
"Yep!  I kind of took some inspiration from your uniform – I hope you don't mind."  
   
"Honestly, it looks way better on you than it ever did on me," says Wendy.  
   
"No way, you're totally rocking the business professional with an edge of kickass," says Lacey.  
   
"How did you get _here_?" says the Middleman, his voice strangled.  
   
Lacey shrugs, crossing her arms casually – as Wendy watches, the Middleman physically turns his head to avoid looking at Lacey.  Or, more accurately, Wendy thinks, Lacey's chest.  
   
"We got signs over the HEYDAR that a singularity was opening up, and Ida's calculations said it was probably going to follow the path of least resistance and go to the last alternate universe that someone had come to our universe from, so we had a feeling it'd be this one.  We went to investigate, and I got pulled in."  
   
"Pulled in?" says Wendy, dubious, and Lacey smiles impishly.  
   
"Maybe I missed my Dub-Dub," she says.

"Friendship is Magic," exclaims the Middleman, "do you mean to say that you willingly came through a quantum singularity to another universe on the off-chance that it would be a universe you were already familiar with?"

Lacey stares at him. "Friendship is Magic?" she repeats.

"Never mind," Wendy says. "You're not...you know, stuck here forever now that the singularity's shut, are you?"

"I'm sure there's a way to reopen it," says the Middleman, looking down at the unconscious Jumper at his feet. "And I know just who to ask."

**Middleman HQ.**  
 **4:59 PM**

Wendy and Lacey dump the Jumper into the interrogation room chair rather unceremoniously, and Lacey straightens with a groan, her hands going to her back.

"Lesson learned," she says, "take off the heels _before_ dragging the universe-jumping supervillain through HQ."

Wendy looks down at her own heels, which are half as high as Lacey's. "Or just get lower heels," says Wendy.

"I told you I was willing to help," says the Middleman, following them in.

"It's nice to know that some things are constant in all universes, like your ability to lecture about gender norms related to heavy lifting," Wendy says to Lacey.

Lacey shrugs. "I try."

"According to the PUNCH, he'll be out overnight," says the Middleman, folding up the Parabolic Ultrasound Notifier of Concussions and Head-injuries. "I suppose that, uh, Ms. Thornfield - "

"Lacey," she protests. "I'm under you in another universe, after all."

The Middleman's face turns a fascinating shade of puce.

"I mean I'm your underling," says Lacey, but Wendy recognizes the light in her eyes – she's enjoying this.

And, for that matter, so is Wendy.

"Yeah, Boss, get your head out of the gutter," says Wendy, and gets a genuine Middleglare in return.

"I suppose that _Lacey_ will be staying for a while, then," he finishes. "Ah, Wendy, I don't suppose...? No, of course not – we can't have the two versions meeting."

"Why not?" says Wendy. "I mean, it's not a problem – Lacey – this Lacey – this _universe's_ Lacey – is on a cruise of the Galapagos with Dr. Barbara Thornfield, MD, PhD, for the whole week."

"Dr. Barbara Thornfield, MD, PhD?" says Lacey, brightening.

"Yeah, she's – oh no," says Wendy. "She's not dead in your universe, is she?"

"Oh, no," says Lacey. "She's alive. She's heading the South American chapter of the Fatboy resistance. And I gotta say, we get along, like, twenty times better now that we're fighting the man together. On separate continents."

"So she was a crappy mom in your universe, too?" says Wendy.

Lacey rolls her eyes. "Just about the worst. Months of not hearing from her and then all of a sudden she wants to micromanage my entire life, as if she can pack all the normal mother-daughter interaction into fifteen minutes on the phone every other week."

"Huh," says Wendy.

"Is your Dr. Barbara Thornfield, MD, PhD, like that too?" says Lacey. "'Cause you've kind of got a look right now..."

"Still hands-off," says Wendy, "but when she calls Lacey – this universe's Lacey – she tries to justify why she never calls. Less of the micromanaging, more of the self-justification. And, apparently, a Galapagos cruise every now and then."

"It could be worse," says Lacey darkly. "Freshman year, right before the Fatboy uprising, she came to Art Crawl. She's been banned ever since."

"Oh, no, what'd she do?"

"First, she interrupted Pip's spoken-word spiritual masterpiece, 'Hey Mister God.'" Lacey shook her head. "Brings me to tears every time."

"And in case I forgot that your universe was the evil one, there's the reminder," says Wendy.

"And then – and _then_ – she asked Noser why he didn't play any songs in Stump the Band."

Wendy gasps. "No!"

"I know, _right_?" Lacey shakes her head. "She's been banned ever since."

"As much as I'm sure the two of you are enjoying catching up and comparing your notes on your relative universes," says the Middleman, "might I interrupt for a moment?"

"Sure thing, Boss," says Lacey, flinging an arm around Wendy's shoulder.

"Sure, Boss," Wendy echoes, grinning. 

The Middleman stares at them for a second, thrown, and then blinks. "Ah, Wendy, may I speak to you for a moment? Alone?"

Wendy and Lacey trade glances, and then Lacey lets her arm fall, shrugging. "I get it, it's a one-universe party," she says. "I'm gonna go see if this Ida thinks I'm a stoner, too."

"This is getting eerie," Wendy says once the door closes after Lacey. "You know, we took like three classes together in art school, and _every single time_ the professors ended up calling us the Wonder Twins?" Wendy nods, a goofy grin on her face. "We still got it!"

"Dubbie, given your previous experience with alternate universes, I hope I don't have to remind you how potentially dangerous this situation is," says the Middleman.

"What? Lacey, dangerous? Are you _kidding_? This is Lacey!"

"This is an alternate version of Lacey, who is, by your own account, hardened by betrayal, Fatboy darning camp, and displaying her body in a version of your sublet that looked strangely like a boudoir," the Middleman reminds her. "You said she was serving _rabbit stew_." 

"It was probably fake rabbit," protests Wendy, but it sounds fake even to her own ears. "Look at her – she's Lacey, in all the ways that count."

"In my experience, universes with alterations to hairstyles or facial hair are always bad news," says the Middleman. "Now, I don't mean to be a pessimist, but just because this Lacey came through for you once doesn't mean she's on our side."

"The other version of you came through for me, too," Wendy reminds him. "And he even gave me back my tennis bracelet, and now Lacey – other Lacey – says that he's Middlemanning again. Isn't that a good sign?"

"Need I remind you that the other version of you tried to _kill you_? And did kill Tyler?"

"What's your point? That was other-universe me, not other-universe her."

"My point is that the Lacey currently talking to Ida might not have as much in common with the Lacey you're familiar with as you might think," says the Middleman. "I have to ask you to keep a close watch on her. And you're sure that Lacey – this universe's Lacey – won't be returning to your apartment?"

"So we can have a girls' night after all?" says Wendy.

The Middleman gives a grave sigh. "I think that might be for the best. That way we can keep her out of harm's way until we can find a way to send her back."

"Of course, if you're worried, she could always stay here," says Wendy, her face a picture of innocence. "You two could chat. Bond. Catch up." She flutters her eyelashes suggestively. "Debrief each other."

The corners of the Middleman's mouth tuck in like they do when Wendy really ticks him off. "Now you're just being deliberately antagonistic."

"I'm not antagonizing anything," says Wendy. "I'm just pointing out that this might be a chance to have an open, honest, unguarded conversation with the woman who, oh that's right, you have _true love_ with."

"Had, Dubbie," says the Middleman. "Unless you've forgotten - "

"Oh, trust me, I haven't," says Wendy. "But you haven't even talked to her in months, and you could make each other happy, so what's the harm?"

"There's quite a bit of harm to be had – the fabric of the universe might tear apart, for one thing!" says the Middleman. "And due to the nature of our work, I could hardly explain to her that we had a brief star-crossed affair consisting of the first five minutes of a Western classic film seen twice, a dance on a replica of the Titanic, eloping under the influence of vampire ventriloquist dolls, and a heartfelt declaration of love and she simply doesn't remember it because it was erased from existence, now can I?"

Wendy tosses her hair over her shoulder, shifting into full-on art-school mode. "I believe it was Shakespeare who once said, 'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments', was it not?"

"Bard of Avon, Dubbie, this is not something I intend to discuss any further!" says the Middleman, as close to snappish as Wendy's ever seen him, and Wendy relents.

"All I'm saying," says Wendy, "is that the two of you are just about my favorite people. Well, my favorite people that I'm not dating. Or related to. The point is, I want to see you happy."

The Middleman claps a hand on Wendy's shoulder. "And I appreciate that. But you can't will someone into happiness, no matter how much you might want to." He gives her shoulder a squeeze, then lets his hand fall. "Now, we should go check on our extradimensional guest."

**The illegal sublet Wendy temporarily shares with the extradimensional doppelganger of another young, photogenic artist.**  
 **5:24 PM**

"What's _qwih-no-ah_?" asks Lacey, her head in the fridge. 

"A grain, apparently," says Wendy, rolling her eyes as she pulls out the box of wine to put on the island. "Lacey – this universe's Lacey – is vegan." She looks over her shoulder towards Lacey, hesitating, and then asks, "Are you - I mean, I don't know if – well, your universe's Joe 90 said something about your secret recipe for rabbit stew...?"

"Oh, that," says Lacey, standing up straight and propping one wrist on the fridge door. "That's not actually rabbit. The secret ingredient is actually Fatboy Industries Enhanced No-Meat Protein Substitute Number Six: Soylent Green."

Wendy nearly drops the box of wine on her foot, and only barely manages to catch it in time. She shoves it onto the island, and physically turns Lacey around.

"Don't eat Soylent Green anymore," she says. "Lacey, _Soylent Green is people_!"

"Dub-Dub," says Lacey, putting her hands on Wendy's shoulders, "that movie came out before we were even born, let alone before the rise of Fatboy. You're forgetting who's in charge of my universe's Fatboy."

Wendy lets her head fall forward as she realizes. "I named it that, didn't I."

Lacey pats her on the top of her head. "We're pretty sure you were being ironic."

"A _truly_ evil universe," says Wendy. "Well then, I guess a steak is out of the – oh no."

Lacey's expression turns quizzical. "Everything okay, Dub-Dub?"

"Tyler and I had a date for tonight," says Wendy. "Because Lacey – this universe's Lacey – is on her cruise of the Galapagos, we were going to take advantage and have a steak dinner."

"You're dating Tyler?" says Lacey. "Wasn't he our Boss's previous recruit that you kind of...murdered?"

"Obviously there are a lot of things that are different about this universe," says Wendy, although her movements turn jerky with discomfort. "I'd never kill him, except, you know, imagining his head on chumsuckers in Gut Wrencher IV. Which is totally nonviolent, compared to what the other me did. But the point _is_ , you look just like Lacey and if you're here when he gets here at - " She checks her watch – her Middlewatch luckily functions as an actual watch when it doesn't have the Middleman's face on it – and groans. "Now. Man, for once I hope to God he's running late."

There's a knock on the door.

"Of course," says Wendy. " _Of course_."

Lacey looks around the apartment and shrugs. "I could pretend to be this universe's Lacey. I'll just have to remember not to freak out at non-aerosolized soup."

Wendy groans again. "Okay, no, this is fine. Just – just pretend you're someone else. We'll figure this out."

"That's what you said with the blueberry pudding pops and the elliptical," Lacey hisses at Wendy, even as Wendy's going for the door.

"Just so you know, in this universe, we swore never to talk about that," says Wendy, and pulls the door open. "Tyler, hey! Uh, this is really weird, but this work thing came up and I'm hosting a, uh, foreign exchange temp who happens to look exactly like Lacey! Crazy, right?"

"Uh, hello?" says Tyler. "This conversation went a lot faster than I was anticipating."

"It came up all of a sudden at work and I couldn't get out of it," says Wendy, opening the door a bit wider so Tyler can see Lacey – the other universe's Lacey – standing by the fridge. "This is Olga. She's from...Sweden! And she doesn't speak very much English. Practically none, in fact."

"Sweden," says Tyler, still standing in the doorway. "Right. You know, I actually spent some time in Sweden as a kid." He rattles off a series of syllables that do, to Wendy's untrained ear, sound a hell of a lot like Swedish.

Wendy looks at Lacey, who looks back at her with wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Then Lacey turns back to Tyler and says, "Surprise! I actually do speak English. I was just, uh, having a little joke with Wendy here. Who I met for the first time today."

"Wow," says Tyler, "you even sound like Lacey?"

"Lacey?" says Lacey, her voice pitched high and borderline panicky. "Who's Lacey? I'm Olga. From Sweden."

"I got that part," says Tyler. "Uh, Wendy, could I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure!" says Wendy, her voice bright as she steps out into the hallway and pulls the door to the apartment shut behind her. "I am so, so sorry," she says immediately. "It just kind of happened, Olga's hotel room flooded and she needed someplace to go and my boss thought it wouldn't be right for her to stay with him because he's, you know, a guy, and then we got here and she just started hitting the box wine and hitting it _hard_ , I mean, man, apparently the Swedes are heavy drinkers, who knew?"

"She really looks a _lot_ like Lacey, though," says Tyler, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, man, other than the hair and the makeup and the strangely skimpy clothing, if I saw her on the street - "

"I know, right, what a small world, but the thing is, she happens to be a vegan too - "

"A vegan Swede?"

"I know, right, it's uncanny how much she's exactly like Lacey without being the same person at all, in any way whatsoever!" Wendy gives Tyler her brightest, most innocent smile.

Tyler looks at the door to the apartment with way more thought and care than Wendy is comfortable with, and then says, "Does this have anything to do with your oddly secret and generally bizarre temp job?"

"No! Why would you say that?"

"Because you only ever smile at me like that when your boss just pulled you on an emergency archeological dig in the Northwest Territories or when you have to go into a forty-eight hour quarantine for your job at a _temp agency_."

"Do you know how many cases of ebola are linked to data entry every year?" Wendy protests. "Because I can tell you that it's at least two less since my boss and I did that quarantine."

"Look, I get that your job is weird, I do," says Tyler, leaning against the door frame. "And I actually really like it. I'm not convinced that you're not secretly living the kind of life that would make a good Vancouver-filmed SyFy channel original series about psychic powers or magical artifacts, but that just makes life more exciting."

Wendy just shakes her head. "We have got to get rid of your cable subscription. It's doing weird things to your imagination."

"My point is," says Tyler, "that you love your job and that's good enough for me...but sometimes, it's [ **bleep** ]ing _weird_."

Wendy gives an exaggerated shrug. "What can I say? This is just a crazy, random happenstance."

The door to the apartment opens, and Lacey pokes her head out. "Sorry, I hate to interrupt, but I just realized that I have an appointment with the – with your boss."

"Wait, what? He didn't say - "

"It completely slipped my mind – must be the jetlag! That cross-Atlantic jetlag, because I'm from Sweden," says Lacey, giving Wendy a quelling glare. "So I'm just going to go back to the – to your office and take care of a few things and then I'll go to my hotel."

"You can't go back to your hotel, remember, _Olga_?" says Wendy. "Because of the accident with your room?"

"Oh!" says Lacey. "That's right, with the – the rats."

"The flooding!" Wendy says.

"That's right, the flooding. And the rats." Lacey nods in the way that she only ever does when she's blatantly lying, putting her whole neck into the motion so her head bobs back and forth as well as up-and-down. She says to Tyler, as an aside, "The rats were swimming. I've never seen anything like it."

"Swimming," says Tyler. Wendy is getting very uncomfortable with the frequency with which he's repeating what they're saying. He turns to Wendy and says, entirely deadpan, "What a crazy, random happenstance."

This is roughly the point when Wendy gives up on the evening entirely.

**Middleman HQ.**  
 **6:33 PM**

The Jumper, who also operates under the unimaginative alias of Fakename McFakerson, is surprisingly easy to track once the Middleman puts his mind to it. Although it's not like he has anything else to attend to, with the alternate version of Lacey safely with Wendy at her apartment and the quantum singularity lying dormant until they can open it again. The Middleman certainly doesn't wonder about what his current apprentice and his apparent alternate-universe apprentice are chatting about; most likely their school days, or the divergences in their relative timelines. That seems like the richest source of conversation, given the circumstances, and it's something that the Middleman himself has devoted quite a bit of energy to _not_ thinking about ever since Wendy's first trip to the other universe. He knows from experience that wondering about what-ifs is never constructive.

He's standing in HQ, a glass of milk at the ready, watching the unconscious Jumper on the displays when he hears movement in the building. Ida is gone for the evening – the Middleman never asks where she goes, since she always somehow turns up right before she's needed again, and she works at least as hard as anyone else in this particular organization so he's not going to begrudge her some personal time, even if she is an alien robot – and so is Wendy. He should be alone.

He puts down his glass of milk. 

The sound is coming from the hallway, and he places himself near the wall where any would-be intruder would enter HQ. It can't be Wendy – Wendy is never, ever this quiet – and it's certainly not Ida – for the same reason – and that leaves a list of potential intruders that's short and ill-meaning - 

Lacey steps through the door, catches sight of him, and lets out a short scream.

"Oh my God, seriously?" she shouts, putting a hand to her chest to steady herself.

"Lacey!" says the Middleman. "I didn't think it was you – well, obviously, I wouldn't have tried to attack you if I knew it was you – what are you doing here? You're supposed to be with Wendy!"

"I was," says Lacey, depositing herself against the edge of Ida's desk. "Then I figured, why not come here and make myself useful?"

The Middleman straightens his shoulders, uncertain of how to arrange himself in these circumstances. "That's – very kind, Lacey, but the Jumper won't be awake until morning and there's really no need to – honestly, there's just not much to _do_."

Lacey looks at Ida's desk and pokes at some pens in a pen holder. "If there's not much to do, then what are you doing here?"

The Middleman tugs on his shirt and clears his throat. "I'm afraid that being the Middleman is a twenty four hour a day, seven day a week sort of job."

Lacey abandons the pens and turns her gaze on him. "Huh. 'Cause the Middleman in my universe, when he doesn't go home, it's 'cause he doesn't really have anywhere else to go."

The Middleman takes a moment to recenter himself. This is – and has always been – the trouble with Lacey; somehow, without knowing anything about him, she has been able to lay him bare. 

"I understand that he decided to stay in town, then," says the Middleman, to change the subject.

"Yep," says Lacey, smiling. "That's the two of us, fighting the good fight against Fatboy."

The Middleman coughs slightly. "I can't help but notice that – that your uniform is strangely reminiscent of Wendy's, albeit somewhat...personalized."

Lacey's smile turns into a grin. She says, with an undertone to her voice that is definitely flirtatious, "You like it?"

"I'm surprised, that's all," says the Middleman. "After all, Wendy chose her own uniform. If anything, I would have expected you to wear a variation of my own."

Lacey's head tips forward in a nod. "Did Wendy mention the part where the first time we met, your uniform consisted of chaps?"

The Middleman grimaces. "She spared me that particular detail."

"You pulled them off very well," Lacey tells him, and she's definitely teasing him now. But her voice turns more genuine as she says, "My boss – the you in my universe – let me pick my own uniform, and this is what I picked. To remind me that my Dub-Dub is somewhere out there, even if it's not in my own universe."

The Middleman frowns. "I hope you'll pardon my saying it, but that hardly seems like a reason to pick a uniform."

Lacey shrugs. "I don't know – it's nice to have something to remind me of her. She didn't leave anything behind when she came back to this universe, so it's something to remember her by." She smiles again, suddenly. "Also, it royally pisses off _my_ universe's Wendy Watson."

The Middleman looks down at his Eisenhower jacket. "Keeping something to remember what you've lost...I can understand that." He looks up, back at Lacey. "Has...the other Middleman – your boss – spoken much about his past?"

Lacey shakes her head, scooting back onto Ida's desk and pulling her legs up beneath her to sit cross-legged. "He doesn't talk much about himself. He didn't even tell me about the Middleboy – Ida told me about him." Lacey's gaze moves off the Middleman in thought. "Except I think I just met him at Wendy's. Talk about weird."

"Wendy's with Tyler?" says the Middleman, an unfortunate scenario painting itself in his mind. While he's generally very supportive of Wendy's relationship, he can't quite imagine Wendy letting down her duties so much as to send Lacey back to headquarters to spend time with Tyler.

"Don't worry, she tried to ditch him for me," says Lacey, "but I figured they could get some time to catch up, and we could...also get some time to catch up?"

Her eyebrows raise with suggestion, and the Middleman clears his throat. Again.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he says, desperately trying to remember why it's a bad idea. "I – while I'm not sure what your relationship with the other Middleman – your boss – is, I - "

"It's kind of one step forward, two steps back," says Lacey. "And you can stop looking at me like that, I'm not about to come over there and rip your clothes off or anything, geeze."

The Middleman tries not to look too obviously relieved.

"I just wanted to talk to you," says Lacey. "I mean, the difference between my universe's Wendy and this universe's Dub-Dub I get, but you and he are just like..." She blows out a breath, shaking her head. "I have no idea what happened there."

The Middleman doesn't want to contemplate it. "Yet you find it easier to imagine Wendy turning into an evil dictator?"

"Don't really have to imagine it," Lacey reminds him, and though her voice is light, the topic certainly isn't.

"I'm sorry," says the Middleman. "Wendy told me about your past – about your time in the darning camp, and your, ah, occupation before joining the other Middleman."

Lacey shrugs, pushing off Ida's desk to stand up. "It's not your fault," she says. "And besides, my boss and I now, we do good." She smiles in that way that she has, pressing her lips together as if it's the only way to contain the pleasure and pride, and nods. "What I'm really wondering, though, is what the deal is with this universe's Lacey."

"Ah," says the Middleman, glancing around the room as if it will magically present some way to end this conversation. "I'm not sure – that is, perhaps Wendy would be the better person to ask - "

"I'm kind of asking you for a reason," says Lacey. "Are the two of you...?"

"No!" says the Middleman. "I – that is, no. We're not..." He lets it trail off, to mirror Lacey's statement.

Lacey looks him up and down, and the Middleman has to fight to not squirm beneath her gaze. "Can I ask why not?" she says.

The Middleman sighs. "It's complicated."

Lacey gestures around the room. "I got plenty of time. And honestly, anything that can help me figure out my universe's Middleman is totally welcome at this point."

"I can't speak to his circumstances," says the Middleman slowly. "I can't be sure how things went differently in that universe. But I can say that – that he is likely someone who is far too familiar with grief, and the weight that comes with it. Despair is more easily sidestepped with the first loss, but I can imagine that the loss of a comrade, a brother-in-arms..." This conversation is becoming at once too abstract and too close to the heart of things. "I can say that there have been several close calls with Dubbie, and that only her – her unique grace under fire would have prevented a, shall we say, backslide into previous unsavory habits."

Lacey raises an eyebrow, her lips pressed together with mirth now. "And I'm guessing those previous unsavory habits might involve motorcycles, long hair, lots of cursing, and assless chaps?"

"Not the chaps," says the Middleman hurriedly, before he adds with resignation, "although the rest does sound familiar."

Lacey giggles, and it draws a smile out of the Middleman. "And what about those complicated dot-dot-dot circumstances with you and this universe's Lacey?"

The Middleman ducks his head. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll let the subject drop?"

Lacey shakes her head, exaggerated motions taking her chin from one shoulder to the other. "Not a chance."

"She and I...that is, we had a...connection."

"The pregnant-pauses kind of connection?"

"The very same. Unfortunately, as you've no doubt seen by now, this is an occupation that often requires sacrifice, and in this particular instance, that included what Lacey and I had. In this case, all of Lacey's memories of our previous interactions and connection."

Lacey leans back, perching just on the edge of Ida's desk now, and the Middleman realizes that he's hardly moved in this entire conversation. He takes a step to the side, just to remedy it, and then crosses his arms for good measure.

"Have you tried it again?" asks Lacey. "Because I gotta say, I can't imagine a universe where I don't want to climb you like a tree."

"...like a tree?" repeats the Middleman, befuddled. 

"Do you not say that in this universe?" says Lacey. "You know, climb you like a tree? Hit that like a Fatboy-approved assassination? Tap that like contaminated water from a faucet?"

The Middleman continues staring blankly.

Lacey nods once, decisively, and the Middleman can see in her eyes that she's decided to go for broke. "It means having sexual relations."

" _Oh_!" says the Middleman. "I – well – that's – that's very, uh – I'm quite flattered, but that's not quite – uh – "

"Still not going to rip all your clothes off," says Lacey. "I'm just sayin', if you wanted to go for it again, it might - "

"I wonder if the Jumper's awake yet," says the Middleman loudly. "Perhaps I should go check."

"Oh, I can come with you," says Lacey, pushing off from Ida's desk again.

"That won't be necessary, but thank you," says the Middleman. "You're probably exhausted from being pulled through the singularity, and, and, other things."

Lacey takes a step backwards and holds her hands up, visibly backing off. "You want some space, I get it." 

"It's – nothing personal," says the Middleman, well aware of how stilted this conversation has become.

"No, I get it," says Lacey. "Besides, at this point, one step forward and two steps back is practically my specialty."

The Middleman cracks a hint of a smile. "Along with fighting evil world-dominating corporations."

"Along with that," says Lacey, with a smile of her own that's full of fondness. "You should smile more," she says suddenly. "You have dimples."

The Middleman feels his smile widen, and tamps down on it, schooling his face back to blankness. "I, uh – the Jumper - "

"Right," says Lacey, shooting off a sloppy salute. "Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow," agrees the Middleman, and tries not to let it feel like a promise.

**The illegal sublet Wendy should be sharing with the extradimensional doppelganger of another young, photogenic artist but is instead currently sharing with her musician boyfriend.**  
 **7:35 PM**

"I'm getting the feeling you're not digging the steak," says Tyler, and Wendy looks up from where she'd been poking the red, bloody meat – done the way that this universe's Lacey always objects so strenuously to in a celebration of pure carnivorousness – and blinks.

"What? No, sorry – I'm deeply enjoying my return to guilt-free red-meat-eating, I'm just..."

Tyler raises an eyebrow. "Distracted by Olga?"

"No," says Wendy, firmly. "Olga can take care of herself. And my boss can take care of himself, and he can handle Olga, too. Probably." 

"I know that face, Wendy Watson," says Tyler, peering forward to look at her. "That's your philosophical thoughts face."

Wendy looks at Tyler for a long moment, her gaze tracing the contours of his face, and she sets down her wine glass and folds her arms on the table in front of her. "Do you ever wonder how much of our lives are just...choices?"

Tyler looks up at the ceiling for a moment. "Hang on, I have the perfect Dumbledore quote for this, it's on the tip of my tongue."

"I'm being serious," Wendy protests.

"So am I," says Tyler. "It is our choices, Wendy, that show us what we truly are, far more than our abilities." 

"You actually just quoted Dumbledore at me," says Wendy, shaking her head.

"Does that make me the worst boyfriend ever, or the best?" says Tyler, raising an alluring eyebrow.

"My point is, what if we'd made different choices? Crappy ones, that had huge, massive, terrible consequences and got our roommates sent to darning camp and ended up murdering people we loved?"

Tyler looks at Wendy blankly. "Is this another weird work-related thing? Did you take a bastardized Myers-Briggs knockoff or something that told you that you were a Sith and not a Jedi and now you're getting all self-conscious about whether you're really meant for the Dark Side?"

Wendy considers the situation, and decides that that analogy is close enough. "Something like that."

"Well, then," says Tyler, stacking his fork and steak knife on his plate, next to the bloody remains of steak and mashed potatoes (which were, of course, loaded with butter in celebration of the nonveganness of the occasion). "I think I still have to side with Professor Dumbledore."

"I thought we were talking about Star Wars now," Wendy points out.

"Going to the Dark Side is a choice - "

"Dumbledore definitely never said that."

"Dumbledore would've said it if Star Wars existed in the wizarding world," says Tyler. "He would've said that going to the Dark Side is a choice, and it's no use wondering if you ever _would_ choose to go to the Dark Side, because if you haven't, then you've obviously chosen not to."

"Putting aside the issue of whether Dumbledore would be a Star Wars fan or a Trekkie - "

"Which is certainly a debate for another day," Tyler agrees.

" - what if you knew that you had the capacity to go to the Dark Side in you? Doesn't that tell you something about yourself?"

Tyler shrugs. "Nope. I mean, for one thing, you play way too many violent video games to _not_ have the capacity to go to the Dark Side. And can I just say that if you ever did turn towards world domination as a potential career, I think the world wouldn't stand a chance?"

Wendy winces. "Normally that would be romantic and sweet, but under the circumstances..."

"Gotcha, no world-domination-related flattery tonight," says Tyler, leaning over the table. "Still, I'd go to the Dark Side for you."

"Oh, would you?" says Wendy, doing some leaning in of her own.

"Of course I would," says Tyler, affecting offense. "I hear you have cookies."

Wendy smiles into the kiss as their lips meet.

Which is of course when there comes a knock on the door.

Wendy groans and sits back in her chair, and Tyler sighs.

"At least it wasn't your watch this time," he says. "Tell you what – once Olga's gone, you be the evil yet alluring Sith lord and I'll be the young and innocent Jedi?"

Wendy raises an eyebrow right back at him. "Search your feelings, you know it to be true."

Wendy gets the door, and, sure enough, Lacey's standing there, still in her version of Wendy's outfit. 

"I had that meeting with your boss," she says. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything..." She waggles her eyebrows.

"I was just leaving," says Tyler, stepping past her out into the hallway. "Olga, it was lovely to meet you, even if you do look disconcertingly like my girlfriend's roommate."

"Nice to meet you too," Lacey calls after him, right before Wendy pulls her into the apartment and closes the door behind her.

"Please tell me you didn't break my boss," she says.

"We just talked," says Lacey, shrugging. "I just wanted to, you know, get to know him before I go back to my own universe and go back to dealing with a version of him that sounds a lot more like a sailor and has even worse dress sense."

Wendy glances down at Lacey's outfit and decides to keep her commentary on that last particular point to herself.

"I think Lacey – this universe's Lacey – left some pajamas," says Wendy. "If you want to change into something a little more comfortable."

"Oh my god, yes," says Lacey instantly. "I have to say, there's something about this outfit that just makes me feel more like ass-kicking, but man, these heels are killing me."

Wendy grins, and goes to raid Lacey's – this universe's Lacey's – pajama drawer.

**The illegal sublet Wendy is currently once again sharing with the extradimensional doppelganger of another young, photogenic artist.**  
 **8:55 PM**

"I'd forgotten what _showers_ felt like," says Lacey, coming out of the bathroom in a pair of comfortable pajamas and accompanied by a billow of steam. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and her skin is a comfortable pink from the heat of the shower. "I mean, there are the decontamination showers at headquarters, but that's not the same."

"No," agrees Wendy, grimacing with the memory. "No, it's definitely not."

Lacey inhales deeply. "And shampoo! Shampoo smells _so good_ , Dub-Dub."

Wendy can't help but grin at the happiness of the alternate version of her best friend. "Is there anything else you miss that you want to check off the list before you go back?"

Lacey's ice light up. "Do you have any ice cream?"

Wendy never thought she would see Lacey actually weep with happiness, but Lacey looks damn close when Wendy brings over the soy chocolate ice cream.

They end up curled up on Lacey's bed, eating their respective ice creams (Wendy, of course, opts for her own not-even-a-little-bit-dairy-free ice cream) and swapping Middlestories.

" - and then you kissed him to get the video of Noser back," Wendy finishes, and Lacey wrinkles her nose.

"I kissed Father Pip?" she says.

"Trust me, he's not a priest in this universe," says Wendy. "He's a selfish, manipulative, art-stealing jerk. And don't even ask about his version of Hey Mister God. This universe's Pip is only a man of the cloth in that everyone who talks to him wants to gag him."

Lacey does not look less disturbed. "And I kissed him anyway?"

"It was for a good cause," Wendy assures her. "And it had been a long day, what with the vampire puppets."

"And the _marriage_ ," Lacey reminds her. "Go back to the part where I married our boss, 'cause I still don't believe it."

"Technically the vampire ventriloquist dolls that were possessing you in order to bring on the thousand years of blood got married and just used you two to do it," says Wendy. "I don't think that's legally binding. Although we could always ask Joe 90 – he used to be a law student, after all."

Lacey pulls her knees up and rests her chin on them, depositing her spoon in the now-empty carton of Soy Chocolate Dream. "It's so weird that he's alive in this universe," she says. "And not, you know, sleazy."

"Oh, I never said that part," says Wendy, grimacing.

Lacey sighs. "I wish my universe were more like yours. I don't want to stay here, obviously, but everything here is so – so..."

"Not-dystopic?" suggests Wendy.

"Exactly!" says Lacey. "And you're here."

It's Wendy's turn to sigh, and she morosely scoops some ice cream up, but doesn't eat it yet. "There's a version of me there, too," she says. 

Lacey peers at Wendy. "I know that face," says Lacey. "That face means you need to talk it out."

"I don't need to talk anything out," Wendy protests.

"Hug it out?" suggests Lacey.

"Have you had any, you know, run-ins with – the other me?" says Wendy. "Anything implying that she might be seeing the error of her ways?"

"Nope," says Lacey, looking down at her toes. "She, uh. She's pretty determined to keep things the way they are."

"Right," says Wendy. Part of her feels compelled to apologize for her alternate-universe self, while the other part is pointing out, quite sensibly, that _she_ hasn't held any universes in an iron grip of tyranny so there's nothing to apologize for.

Instead, she says, "Want to paint each others' toenails and watch Zombies of Mora Tau?"

Lacey's eyes light up. "This universe still has _nail polish_?"

**An abandoned warehouse next to an industrial physics lab.**  
 **Again.**  
 **7:52 AM**

Half a box of wine, two spilled bottles of nailpolish, three movie viewings, a visit to HQ and an interrogation later, Wendy, Lacey, and the Middleman stand beside the newly-reopened quantum singularity leading to Lacey's universe. Wendy and Lacey, admittedly, are more disappointed at the circumstances than the Middleman, who honestly just looks relieved.

Wendy pulls out of Lacey's hug, and says, "Just remember: I hate clowns."

"Like I could forget," says Lacey, her eyes a bit damp. "I don't see how that's a weakness we can exploit against the other version of you, though."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Wendy assures her.

"Well," says the Middleman, with a tension in his posture that means that he's paying extra attention to it. "It was an honor having you here, and as a Middlerecruit from another universe, you should know that you're always welcome to our hospitality."

"And if you ever find yourself in our neck of the multiverse again, call us up," says Lacey, flashing a smile at Wendy. "Apparently you have something of my boss's. A tennis bracelet?"

"Hey, he gave that back to me fair and square," says Wendy. "If he wants it, he'll have to fight me for it."

"Or send his Middlerecruit to fight in his place," says Lacey.

"In Jell-O," suggests Wendy. "We could sell tickets."

"Gelatin is murder, Dub-Dub," says Lacey, and pulls her in for one more hug. Then she turns to the Middleman, and snaps off a surprisingly sharp salute. "Wendy's boss," she says, with the familiar drawl to it, "I've just got one word of advice: Don't give up on her. Circumstances or no circumstances, I know what she can feel for you, and it's obvious what you already feel for her. If it's not gonna work this time around, it's not gonna work, but don't kill it before it even gets a shot." She smiles again. "At least show her those dimples."

The Middleman looks down, but the dimples make a reappearance anyway.

Lacey takes a deep breath and turns towards the singularity. "Good luck with the universe," she says. "Don't let Fatboy take it over."

"No worries there," says Wendy. "Show no mercy against other-me - I know that she should know better."

Lacey's expression turns fond. "Her? She may be Wendy Watson, but she's not my Dub-Dub." And with one last smile, the alternate version of Lacey goes through the singularity.

It closes behind her, without the same glimpse of the other universe that they'd been privy to last time – the Middleman starts spouting off an explanation for it, but Wendy's already tuning it out.

They're all the way back in the car when she realizes that he's changed the subject, and has in fact said her names multiple times to try to get her attention.

"Sorry – what?" she says.

"I said, something seems to be bothering you," says the Middleman. "I don't suppose you'd like to talk about it?"

"Nothing's bothering me!" says Wendy, but she can tell both from her own voice and from the Middleman's expression that it's a really obvious lie. "Okay, fine. If that universe's Lacey is so much like this one, and that universe's you is getting closer to being the real you, then – what does that say about me?"

"Ah, I see," says the Middleman. "You're wondering if you aren't destined for the same tyrannical evil of your alternate-universe double."

"Well, it sounds ridiculous when you put it that way," Wendy grumbles.

"Not at all – it's a fair question," says the Middleman.

"Not making me feel better."

"However," continues the Middleman, "I would point out one incontrovertible fact."

"What?"

"If the universes are not so different as we once thought," says the Middleman, "then why is Pip a priest in that one?"

After a moment of silence, Wendy says, "That's the first thing anyone's said that actually makes me feel better."

"The multiverse is a strange place, Dubbie," says the Middleman. "And if anything, perhaps the other universe's Wendy Watson has the same spark of good in her as you do."

Wendy contemplates this for a moment, and then says, "No, she was pretty much just an asshole."

"Language, Dubbie," says the Middleman.

"You know," Wendy says, "Lacey – this universe's Lacey – is going to be back for New Year's Eve."

The Middleman gaze becomes fixed in the way that means that he's trying not to react too obviously. "Oh?"

"And we're kind of having a party."

"Dubbie - "

"And I think you should come."

"While I appreciate the offer - "

"Although I should warn you, Lacey takes the kissing-at-midnight thing really, _really_ seriously, so with that in mind you either might or might not want to be standing next to her when the countdown reaches zero."

"I - " The Middleman blinks a few times, then says, "Perhaps that's not the best idea."

"Boss - "

"You have a life separate from your work, and that's _good_ ," the Middleman says. "You're allowed that, and it's probably for the best."

"Does that mean that my life can't include my work, then?" says Wendy. "Can't include you? Because I gotta say, weird as it may be to watch those two worlds collide at a New Year's Eve party, you're kind of a big deal in my life too."

The Middleman glances over at her, and from the look in his eyes, she can tell he's thawing to the idea.

"You once said that I should consider you one of my woman-friends, and I invite all my woman-friends to my parties," says Wendy. The Middleman cracks a smile, and she continues, "And you also said once that if you turn away love, it's on you, not the job."

And the smile is gone.

"So just think about coming to the party, just for a glass of sparkling apple cider or milk or whatever, and just...give it a chance?"

After a moment, the Middleman says, "I do have a fondness for sparkling cider."

"Great!" says Wendy.

"Although I won't be responsible for any bodily harm that that plagiarist Pip comes to," warns the Middleman.

"Understood," says Wendy.

"And I haven't gone to this type of social gathering in – well, in a very long time, so - "

"We're a bunch of art school graduates – awkward is par for the course," says Wendy. 

"And Dubbie?" The Middleman looks at her, his eyes gentle, and says, "Thank you."

Wendy smiles back at him.


End file.
